All The Old Familiar Places
by cascade-up
Summary: Ten years later - a speculation on events in the future.
1. I'll Be Seeing You

**A/N: More of a writing experiment on my part than anything else. Got tired of looking at it sitting on my computer so here's the story - sans edits and re-writes.  
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**Part I:

"_I'll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces all day through."_

November 2020

Union Square Ballroom

New York City

8 p.m.

The nerves and tension were unusually high for a simple award ceremony. It was a combination of the heady excitement you get at seeing old friends after a long summer vacation, and the apprehension of trying to outdo classmates during college reunions. Snippets of conversations could be heard over the clinking of dishes and silverware, but, truth be told, most people weren't really listening. The guests were more interested in the man sitting behind the podium. He was dressed impeccably, with a crisp white shirt and perfectly placed bow tie. His hair, though significantly grayer, was still as full as ever, gelled and styled in the same way that used to make women, and a fair share of men, swoon. He was smiling, and his eyes betrayed the quiet confidence that comes from a full and satisfied life.

Looking out into the audience, he found all of the colleagues, friends, and family who had been with him for the past twenty years. There was Addison sitting in the front, her unmistakable red hair still as vibrant as ever. She was holding hands with her husband, and they were both laughing at some joke Callie had just told. Miranda and Richard were at the next table, in some type of good-natured argument. Owen and Alex were standing by the door, uncomfortable in their suits and looking as if they both wanted to run out of the room as soon as the presentation was over. Commanding though they were in the operating room, these two felt lost in the sea of formal wear and champagne cocktails.

At the table closest to him, his eyes rested over the heads of Cristina and Meredith. The two women were leaning close to each other, deep in some intense conversation that only they could understand. Ten years and 3000 miles weren't enough to separate the friendship that began when they were girls pretending to understand what life was all about. Not that they didn't have their share of fights, but reconciliation always followed close behind. Meredith's eyes looked up, and Derek gave a wink to his wife. She reciprocated by sticking her tongue out at him. World-class surgeons reverting back to grade school behavior. The psychologists in the room would definitely have something to say about that.

It's odd thinking about how everyone's lives crossed at this exact moment, in this particular room. There were those who could continue a conversation started two years ago, finding that the bonds that were formed in the past had only strengthened in time. There were those who would politely catch up on each other's lives, and then slowly warm again to the idea that the strangers around them were once friends. A few hours and drinks later the camaraderie was back. And then there were the ones who were once so familiar with each other that the time spent apart became an insurmountable wall.

The room quieted down as the chairman walked up to the stand and began his introductory remarks. There were the requisite jokes, of course – none of them funny, but the crowd laughed out of politeness, and maybe a little bit of unease as well. "It gives me great pleasure," the speaker went on, "to introduce to you the highly renowned and brilliant Dr. Derek Shepherd, chief of surgery at Seattle Grace Hospital." The applause was deafening, and somewhere in the distance a few catcalls could even be heard. It was Mark, of course – still with the same mischievous grin on his face. The years had somewhat tempered his wildness, but no number of kids or Volvos could fully erase the boyish charm he still possessed in abundance.

Derek slowly walked to the front of the stage, the carefully transcribed, highlighted, and color-coded index cards left abandoned in his suit pocket. He looked out at all the people sitting across the room, and then began: "Thank you to everyone for the warm welcome. I am truly grateful to be here tonight in front of so many friends. It is an incredible honor…"


	2. Beyond The Sea

Part II:

"_Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands, and watches the ships that go sailing."_

12 Hours Ago

Alex woke up to the sound of light breathing beside his head and the feel of a warm body next to his. He was disoriented, in the way that one can only be in a strange hotel room. Traces of last night's tequila still clung to his breath. There was something unsettling about the place. The sheets were too crisp, the curtains too transparent, the woman next to him too wrong in all the innumerable ways. She roused from sleep, and murmured a breathy, "Good morning" in a voice that made him involuntarily cringe inside. The disorientation lasted only a few brief seconds, completely gone once her voice had broken the stifled silence. Years of lengthy hospital on-call schedules had trained him to transition quickly from deep sleep to full alertness at the slight hint of sound.

"Morning," he replied brusquely. He glanced about the room, estimating the amount of time it would take to fully dress and make a fast exit. Avoiding eye contact, he sat up and started gathering his clothes. "Listen, I would love to stay a little while longer, but I've got an early meeting with some colleagues downtown." At this point he had buttoned up his shirt, wrinkled but still wearable. Next up was the hunt for a pair of shoes. "Feel free to take as long as you want; order breakfast if you'd like." Found one shoe under the bed. "Charge it to the room. Thanks … um …" as he struggled to recall more details from the previous night's events.

"My name's Madeline."

"Right," replied Alex, spotting the second shoe by the dresser. Now looking somewhat presentable, he shoved his keys and wallet into his pocket and walked out the door. In the hallway, he took a moment to steady his breathing, and then made his way toward the hotel lobby, exiting onto the streets of New York.

A casual onlooker would have noticed this about the man walking down the sidewalk: he was slightly hunched over from the wind. The tousled hair didn't betray a single strand of gray, a clear indication of an upscale Los Angeles salon job. Patients trusted doctors with good hair, Alex always thought – especially the ones being treated with chemotherapy. Even with the cold quickening his pace, there was an undeniable swagger to his walk. It was the silhouette of a man who knew exactly how others perceived him and worked hard to make sure it stayed that way. Alex was just as much the lothario now as when he was younger. If you got closer, though, you would have seen that the man was a far cry from his earlier years. But no one ever got close enough to realize that. Commitment wasn't really something he thought too much about these days. It was just better that way.

A few blocks from the hotel he spotted a coffee shop that didn't appear too crowded, so he walked in to buy some much-needed caffeine and kill the time it would take for – whatever her name was – to leave the hotel room. He was calculating in his head how much longer before it would be safe to go back, when his thoughts were interrupted by the woman at the front of the line. It was an ordinary voice, and she was merely ordering a cup of coffee. There was the odd timbre in her voice, though, that made Alex look up. It was a quality that he hadn't heard in over a decade – not outside of the conversations he played out in his head, at least. He glanced up toward the front of the line and was slightly taken aback. All at once he was pulled back to memories from his residency days. Across from him was the same blonde hair and tall, lithe figure that he had known so intimately – the same eyes and voice that always felt and cared too much. Hell of a coincidence, Alex thought, trying to shake the images from his head. It must have been some form of punishment for this morning's behavior.

The woman collected her coffee and walked past him out the door. Not bothering to order anything for himself, Alex slowly followed her out into the street. He had no idea what he was doing, or why, for that matter. He had never met this woman, and he had no inclination to actually talk with her – but his instincts took over as he fixed his gaze forward. Five minutes later and he had fallen into a steady pace, so much so that he never noticed that the woman had stopped moving, or that she had turned around with an accusatory look on her face.

"Why are you following me?" she asked cautiously.

Alex wasn't expecting a confrontation – he didn't know what to expect, honestly. "I … uh …" he stammered, "I think you dropped your scarf."

"And you've followed me to return a scarf that I dropped, even though you're empty-handed?"

This wasn't going so well. But on a good note, this woman, on closer inspection, no longer reminded him of Izzie. The eyes were a different color, her height was slightly shorter … she had none of the lightness and sense of gaiety that Izzie had possessed.

"I'm sorry," said Alex, noticeably more relaxed now. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere, but I was wrong. I'm still jet-lagged from my flight. Really sorry to have scared you."

"This is New York," she said. "Trust me, you didn't scare me."

Alex chuckled. "I think I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

"I'm just going to leave and let you get back to your day." He extended his hand out as a peace offering.

"It was nice … well, more odd … meeting you," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm Hannah." And with that, she walked away.


	3. As Time Goes By

Part III:

"_And no matter what the progress or what may yet be proved, the simple facts of life are such they cannot be removed."_

20 Hours Ago

Of all the late night bars, in all the hotels, in all of New York City, Cristina walks into the one that Owen Hunt had staked out for his own that evening. If this had been a movie, the two would have sensed each other's presence immediately, and locked eyes, sharing a deep and thoughtful gaze. Maybe the noise around the room would have faded, and some haunting music would have started to play in the background. But this wasn't a movie, and it took the better part of 15 minutes before Owen glanced up from his secluded booth to find her sitting at the bar, gin and tonic in one hand, Blackberry in the other.

There was no jolt of recognition, no sudden panic at seeing her in person. It was more of a slow acknowledgement on his part to her presence. He had been following her work closely in the subsequent years. Head of cardiothoracic surgery at New York Presbyterian, she had published numerous articles in The New England Journal of Medicine and JAMA, essentially rewriting the tenets of her field. He took a small amount of pride with each accomplishment, although he really had no part in the undertaking.

Success and authority were well suited to Cristina and it showed, from the tailored Gucci suit and $500 black pumps to the impeccable French twist that tamed her normally wild and curly black hair. Her skin was as pale as it used to be, marked with a few wrinkles that had slowly crept their way in, only noticeable in certain lighting. Time had softened her, to any extent that Cristina could be softened. She was still as focused on her career as ever, demanding perfection from those who worked with her. But no one cowered in fear as the interns used to do back in Seattle. Loyalty and dedication were earned through respect, and a little bit of awe. Cristina was the best, and everyone always knew it, though she never had to do anything to remind them of that. It was a skill she had acquired through the years, and her power now came from a kind of quiet fire.

Owen had shifted directions, abandoning the trauma surgery he had loved in his impetuous youth. The need for adventure had led him to Doctors Without Borders where he now traveled to the remote regions of Africa, to the still poverty-stricken countries of Sudan and Somalia. It was a different side of war that he was now able to witness –civilian casualties in the fight against hunger and disease were far more devastating than any IED that human hands could manufacture. They had managed to eradicate malaria and stem the tide of HIV and AIDS, but new illnesses kept cropping up, and no amount of medicine could fully cure the prejudice and animosity between men that led to the suffering of so many innocent victims. It was, once again, a difficult life that Owen had chosen to lead – one that had hardened his appearance, but kept him lean and tanned, delaying the paunch that usually comes with middle age.

In the back of the bar someone had dropped a glass on the floor, which then shattered, causing Cristina to glance in that direction. In doing so, she finally saw Owen sitting alone, staring at her. In the past she would have run out of the bar and hid in the bathroom to call Meredith. But that was another life. She finished her drink, and slowly made her way to the booth.

Owen stood up as she approached. "Hello," he said. It was one of those awkward greetings where both people realized the uncomfortable nature of the situation, and realized the other person knew it as well, but both still refused to acknowledge it.

"Hi," she responded. A few more moments of silence ensued.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked out of habit, motioning for the waitress before Cristina had time to respond. She took a second to consider the consequences of either answer, but nevertheless nodded, carefully sitting down across from him.

"I didn't expect to see you," she said. "Are you here for the …"

"Yeah, I am. Just got in earlier tonight from Sri Lanka."  
"How was the flight?" For two people who had known each other so intimately, it was a stark contrast for either one to hear them resort to formulaic conversation fillers. Cristina didn't care how long the flight was, and Owen had no desire to recount the hours spent cramped up in the plane. But neither side wanted to concede, so they spent the next hour dancing around the questions they really wanted to ask, and instead occupied the time with useless information about their jobs. Owen talked about the programs being developed to distribute new anti-retroviral medications in developing nations. Cristina detailed the new cases that had cropped up at her hospital in the past few months.

"It's getting late," she finally said. "I've still got work tomorrow morning, so I should probably head back home."

"I'll walk you to your car." The tone in his voice suggested that he wanted to spend a few more minutes with her, even if it resulted in uneasy conversations.

"I live nearby … you can walk me home, if you'd like." The two had somehow transitioned into talking like teenagers out on their first date. Owen nodded, and they made their way outside. The quietness of the street seemed to melt away some of the unfamiliarity. They walked in silence for a while.

All of a sudden Cristina stopped. She turned to face him. "A postcard." she said slowly, in an almost whisper. "You left Seattle after we broke up, and I had no idea where you were. Two months later I get a postcard with the words 'All the best' and no return address. What was I supposed to do with that? Frame it and put it up in my locker?"

"You were supposed to forget me," Owen said. I was giving you an out. I was giving you a chance to get away from all the drama and find someone who would be good for you – who wouldn't hurt you. That postcard was my way of letting you off the hook. I know we would have tried to be together again. And you would have regretted it. Maybe not the first day, or the day after that, but eventually there would come a time when you would resent me … and every day after that for the rest of your life would have been spent regretting the decision to stay together. I couldn't live with that."

The familiar tears started welling in Cristina's eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she let herself cry, but past is prologue – it always seemed to happen with Owen around. "Why couldn't you tell me in person?"

"Because I didn't think I would have had the strength to argue with you face to face."

Cristina stepped closer to him, inhaling his familiar scent, still recognizable after so much time spent apart. "And what about now?" she asked.

"I forgot how beautiful you are," he said. They both leaned in, foreheads touching. Her lips parted, and his gaze fell upon them. "Cristina," Owen said, his voice a caress, "I'm married."


	4. The Way You Look Tonight

Part IV:

"_Lovely. Never, ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you … just the way you look tonight."_

3 Hours Ago

Charlie Shepherd had somehow managed to lead what many would call a charmed life. He had his father's looks (including full head of hair), and his mother's wry sense of humor. His intelligence, evident from an early age, was a source of mock argument, with both parents claiming sole responsibility for its origin. Cristina finally settled the dispute when she took credit for his academic prowess, attributing genius through proximity, or something like that. Mark made sure that Charlie learned how to put his talents to good use – namely in the pursuit of mischief and girls. At the tender age of 8, the boy had learned the power a dimpled grin and coaxing voice could wield with regards to members of the opposite sex. His parents were gearing up for the chaos that was to be his teenage years. So with all the attention and praised lavished upon him since birth, and with all the brilliance inherited from mother, father, and honorary parents, it was a source of great amusement to Meredith to find her son struggling with the intricacies of a bow tie.

"It's not too late to wear the clip-on," she said with a hint of laughter in her voice. "No one will ever know the difference."

"I am not going to let this thing win," he said in frustration. His last effort at producing anything close to resembling its intended form made Meredith grin. "The online instructions made it look really easy. I think there might have been a problem with the editing on the video…"

"I don't think it's the video that has the problem, Charlie." Meredith walked over to her son, standing by the mirror. "Let me see if I can fix this."

He started whining, "I'm too old to have my mommy dress me." He turned back around toward the mirror and began attempt 34.

At that instance, Derek walked into the room looking disheveled. "Meredith, there's something wrong with this bow tie. They must have sent me the wrong one."

"There's nothing wrong with it. Come here," she motioned.

"I'm a grown man. I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself," he pouted, walking over to share the mirror with Charlie.

Like father, like son. "Well, we can now definitely rule out the milkman," she said, looking from one to the other.

Who would have ever thought that the daughter of Ellis Grey would have been the one to end up with the "white picket fence" and happy ending? Since Izzie had lived out the fairytale wedding that she had been planning for Meredith and Derek, there was no longer any need for tulle and tiaras. The unorthodox couple decided to get married in the middle of the summer. The ceremony and reception were held in the place where it all began – at Joe's. It was the perfect setting for the two, complete with beer, chicken wings, and a lot of tequila. At the insistence of the chief, they had planned for a two-week honeymoon in Italy, yet after day four they couldn't handle the time off any longer and came back to work. Surgeons. They were born flawed that way.

Richard retired in the spring of 2012, and Seattle Grace found a new chief in one Derek Shepherd. It was the same year that Meredith found out she was pregnant. She freaked out in true Meredith fashion for the entire nine months, alternating from euphorically happy to complete denial. It took Cristina's continual threats of bodily harm every morning to keep her in a presentable mood to the hospital staff. But once Charlie arrived in the middle of the night, a sense of calm settled over Meredith. It wasn't that she had changed overnight into a new person. It was just that the balance of things had shifted and reprioritized. The skittish girl had a newfound confidence – it was something that she didn't expect to happen after the scars left from her own childhood experiences.

Finally, both father and son had completed their wardrobe, and both now turned to face Meredith, who was in the middle of grabbing coats, keys, and purse. "What's the rush?" asked Derek. "They're not starting without me."

"We'll miss the champagne," teased Meredith.

"Before I forget," Derek walked up to her, "have I told you how great you look?" He spun her around and started a slow dance to some imaginary music in the room. "Charlie," he said, "take notes. Uncle Mark isn't the only one who knows about wooing girls."

Charlie nodded, a little too solemnly for someone his age, but what can you expect from the son of two highly respected surgeons.


	5. Smile

Part V:

"_Light up your face with gladness, hide every trace of sadness, although a tear may be ever so near. That's the time you must keep on trying, smile, what's the use of crying? You'll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile." _

8:30 p.m.

"Thank you to everyone for the warm welcome. I am truly grateful to be here tonight with so many friends. It is an incredible honor to be standing in front of you all. I don't think any of us expected to be sitting here under these circumstances. It's sobering to think of how much has changed in the past several years, for good or ill. I met George O'Malley when he first started out as an intern at Seattle Grace. He never really stood out too much that first year. He was unsure of himself, a little unsteady, a little too mild. But he had the biggest heart. And he was never afraid to ask questions, and he never shied away from trying to make himself a better doctor. And I think that those first few years when he struggled to find his place helped to define who he was later in life.

"When he decided to join the army, most of us were a little surprised, maybe even a bit doubtful of how well he'd survive in that environment. But we shouldn't have been. George wasn't the flashiest doctor, but he was someone we could depend on even in the most challenging of circumstances. As his confidence grew, I could tell that patients were reassured just by his presence. That goes a long way. It's what made him one of the best.

"It's been two years since his death in North Korea. I can't begin to comprehend or justify the tragedies that happen, to any of us. But I do know that we couldn't have asked for anyone better. And I wish nothing more than for my son to one day be the kind of man that George was. So, on behalf of all those here today, and for the ones who are no longer with us, I'd like to take the time to honor George O'Malley for his service in medicine, and for his contributions to the lives of so many people."

* * *

9:30 p.m.

"It's nice to see you," Addison said as she approached Alex, who was standing in the corner.

He smiled. "Is this the point in time where I have to ask you to dance?"

"Why Alex, you've swept me off my feet," she smirked. "And yes, it is." They walked over to the half-empty dance floor. "How are you doing?" she asked, as a Sinatra tune started playing.

"Never been better."

"You're lying," she said, her voice suddenly serious.

"Just let me pretend I am, for tonight," he replied.

Addison reassured him, "What are friends for?"

* * *

10:00 p.m.

"You wore that same color dress at Izzie's wedding." Owen interrupted Cristina's thoughts. She had been avoiding him for most of the night.

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

"What's she like? Your wife, I mean."

"I don't think…" Owen started to protest, but decided against it. "You'd like her. She…" his voice trailed off, not really sure of what to say next.

"I'm glad you're happy," Cristina said, trying to avoid the impending conversation. "It was good seeing you, Owen. I have to leave, but next time you're in town you should give me a call." She leaned in for a hug, and let herself linger for just a second longer than usual to whisper her own goodbye. "Take care now."

* * *

11:00 p.m.

"I think George would have appreciated tonight," said Meredith. "He would have been completely embarrassed, of course, but he would have liked it." They were heading back to their room, preparing for an early flight the next morning. "If there's been anything I've learned these past ten years," she said as the three of them got into the elevator, "is that you can't anticipate everything that's going to happen. For better or for worse, we're all just along for the ride."

Derek looked at her, and as the doors slowly closed, he smiled.


End file.
